Let the clouds go sailing by
by liliumweiss
Summary: Part of the "what the signs are made of" series. taurus werewolf bite, goddess' essence, rain
1. Chapter 1

Going camping is something Killian does out of grief. It's not like sailing, when he feels his brother there with him, nor it's like reading, when sometimes he can _hear_ his mother's voice pronouncing the words his eyes devour.

He does it because of the other member of his family he's lost.

His father.

Killian remembers him well, he remembers how much he loved his father and how he instilled the first drop of wisdom in him. He also remembers how much it hurt when he woke up in the middle of the night, screaming because of a nightmare, but his father never came running through the door, ready to comfort him.

It's a step he took when his anger issues threatened to have him remove from duty: he can't very well be a good cop if he exceeds his power, can he?

So he made a list of things he did with Brennan, things he started to hate because of his abandonment, and relived them again. And again, until it stopped hurting so much and he could admit to himself that he may despise his father, but that he also missed him.

Camping is something they used to do together, just like sailing. The latter, however, is not as haunted by the dark shadow of his father as camping is, Liam being the one to help Killian with the pain of loss through more sailing lessons, coping with that pain himself.

The night is pretty humid, something that irks him, meaning he'll find insects abounding and, ugh, mosquitoes. He sighs, taking a swig of his spiked hot chocolate – cutting off the alcohol has been pretty easy, to his surprise.

He loses himself in the night, its sounds and scents, the air musky opposite to the sea's salty one, the breeze ruffling his hair. It'll rain soon, if he has to guess, he'd say in about an hour, enough to gather his belongings, extinguish the fire and get cosy in his sleeping bag.

Looking up at the sky, what little patch of sky visible through the leaves, Killian sighs again. Usually, he feels at peace, or, well, as much as he can when shadows of the past torment him, but lately, lately he feels lonely.

For him, it's not something new, he's felt like that many times. Now, though, it's different: he feels as if he's wasting away, rotting like an apple. He knows love isn't the answer, and he _does_ have people who love him, but his heart knows it's not enough.

He chuckles dryly at that. His heart should be considered as hard as a rock, unloving after what happened with Milah, just like he's unlovable. What little friends he has would probably differ, because they, somehow, love him. Killian just… Killian wants more.

When he sees a shooting star fall from the sky, his eyes widen in wonder, and he wishes, he wishes for that kind of love people can only dream of very few find.

As they say, however, be careful what you wish for.

He wakes up writhing in pain, not knowing why he feels like that and- is that a bloody bite on his side? A whirlwind of emotions sweeps through him: confusion, fear, anxiety, shock only few of them as he looks at the slash in the tent's fabric, spread wide open like an open wound.

It hurts, it _bloody_ hurts and the pain doesn't stop, only fades a little. Rapidly, in the middle of the night with his sweat-soaked clothes aiding the cold of the night to sink deep into his bones. His teeth chatter a bit, even.

The drive home seems like a drug-induced trip, every detail so enhanced they appear to not belong to this world.

Killian needs to sleep. And to see a doctor. Whale would probably kill him as he pretends to cure him only because he woke him in the dead of the night.

In the morning, after he collapses on the bed, the wound tended as best as he could without needing stitches or anything more than an unholy amount of disinfectant, the realization that he doesn't even need to see Victor leaves Killian astonished.

On his fair skin, not even a scar could be seen. He couldn't have dreamt it, he just… couldn't. But he knows, however, that he can't tell anybody what he saw. Or, at least, what he thinks he saw. What did he see, exactly? He's never seen whatever beast bit him. It makes the hair at the base of his neck rise in apprehension.

Trying to forget all about it, Killian goes on with his life, never mentioning it to any of his friends. He goes out for drinks after work, he investigates cases that make is stomach churn in disgust, like the one about an abusive husband. The whole affair is a messy thing, one he can't quite explain.

Killian is a good cop, a brilliant one, some would say, but one thing is connecting clues and being able to see evidence not many can see, another is hearing the woman's panicked heartbeat as she convincingly tries to protect the monster she's naively married.

Of course, Killian just brushes it off, hoping it would be an isolated case.

It's almost as if his prayers are answered since he doesn't experience anything like that,

Until, two weeks or so later, everything changes.

He wakes up in the middle of the forest, stark naked and soaked to the bone, his skin so cold it could turn water to ice at the contact.

How the bloody hell did he end up in middle of the middle of the bloody forest with no clothes on?

But Killian doesn't have time to search for a plausible answer – if there even is one – because he _hears_ an even breath, slow and deep, the complete opposite to his own, heavy and laboured.

Then he ears something else, something he can't catalogue, as if something is being pulled, like-

An arrow flies right next to his head, nicking his right cheek, blood copiously pouring out of the wound. It's a fortune the arrow only hit his cheek, is somehow enhanced senses allowing him to shy away enough to not be hit straight between his eyes.

Seething, Killian doesn't yell, he stands up, not caring about his nudity, and runs towards the origin of the noise.

She's fast, really fast, even with a bouncy quiver full of arrows around her hips, just like her hair does, not tied in a ponytail like someone would expect, but down in loose curls. But Killian, Killian is faster. He's always been fit, not too much, but enough to move swiftly when needed. This time, however, he's way faster than usual, the trees an indistinguishable green blur out of the corners of his eyes.

Soon, when is breath is inexplicably still long and low and not ragged, he catches up with her, pushing her to the ground, the fact that he's naked not deterring him in the least. He straddles her hips, pinning her wrist to the ground, forcing her to release her grip on the bow.

She trashes under him, and he would perhaps think of it as foreplay if he only knew who the bloody hell she is.

«Don't. Move.» he hisses through gritted teeth, blood dripping on her hair from the open wound on his cheek.

Of course, she does not listen to him.

Although thin, the woman is strong, and she almost manages to roll them over and best him. It's all in vain.

In the end, knowing she can't keep going on like that, his hands forcefully bending her arms behind her back, she stops moving.

«Alright, alright, alright, get off of me!»

In a deep, secret corner of his mind, Killian feels like he wants to… _purr_ at the sound of her voice or obey in some twisted way. He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts, needing to focus.

«Sorry, love,» he says, voice dripping with sarcasm, «can't do that.»

«If-» she starts, grunting in pain as Killian tightens his grips, cutting off her circulation, «if I promise not to do anything, will you let me go?»

«Bit to late for that, isn't it?» There is something in him that wants to tie her down, although in a more enjoyable way. _What the bloody fuck?_, he scolds himself, shaking his head, more blood running down his cheek. He hopes he won't need stitches. «Why did you do that? Did you want to kill me?»

«No!» she roars, twisting her neck to look at him, and his breath catches in his throat. Deep green meets blue, and he's enraptured. For a moment, Killian's mind empties, but the moment she speaks again he gains focus once again. «Well, yes, okay? I thought you killed the wolf!»

Now he's utterly confused. «Wolf? What wolf? What the bloody hell are you talking about?»

«The black wolf, the one-» she cuts herself off, groaning and resting her head on the wet ground. «Ah, fuck, I should've understood.»

If possible, Killian is even more confused. And pissed. Not to mention, the lack of clothes and the fact that he's slowly realizing tat he is indeed pressed against very luscious forms are getting to him. «Understood what?»

«Don't play dumb, you idiot!» she spits, looking at him angrily out of the corner of her eye. «Understood that you are a werewolf.»

Killian's eyes widen in disbelief. It can't be, werewolves do not exist. Nothing like that does. Yet… No, it can be.

The woman under him sighs. «If you let me go – and please, put some clothes on – I'll explain.»

Reluctantly, Killian does as she says, perhaps too confused and shocked by her words to actually still be listening to reason. All he can come up with is: «I don't know where my clothes are.»

She rolls her eyes, or he thinks she does, since she's now standing up, quietly brushing leaves from her clothes – pretty fitting clothes, now that he focuses on them, hugging her curves and- bloody hell, he's naked. Gulping, he tries to think about something else, something awful, something like his colleague's pranks.

«I can do something about that,» she says, keeping her back to him, before waving a hand.

A cloud of white-grey smoke envelopes him and, suddenly, he's fully clothed. He wants to ask himself what the bloody hell this is, but he thinks he's made hell impossibly bloody already.

Finally, she turns around, and it's like the sunlight penetrating through a cloud bank after dark days of continue rain. Her face is the most beautiful he's ever seen, pale heated skin with a few smudges of mud on her cheek she's now polishing off with her hand. Freckles cover her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, high cheekbones below green eyes. Finally seeing both, losing himself in those irises, is not justice to being glared at by only one of them.

She hums, bending to pick her bow and checking for any damage. When she finds none, she brings back her eyes on him. «I assume you don't know what I'm talking about.»

Killian rolls his eyes. He wants to retort with some snarky remark, but he doesn't, a spark of good form flaring deep inside of him. «Tell me what you know.» He glances around, suddenly uncomfortable. «Please.»

One of her blonde eyebrows arches, but she nods, waving her hand one more time. Again, he's enveloped by a thick cloud of smoke, the ground disappearing from under his feet but he's not falling, in fact, it's just a flash and then a much harder kind of floor is beneath him.

Looking around, Killian feels as if he's in a cage until he realizes he actually is in a loft and the woman, bow and quiver abandoned on the couch, is pulling out a box of cereals from a cupboard. He almost smiles at the scene.

«You want something?» she asks, glancing at him for a second before focusing on the bowl she's filling with cereals and milk. «You must be famished after the shift.»

As if on cue, his stomach growls. «I'll have what you're having,» he replies, not above eating like a child himself, though he does try to stay healthy. The woman shrugs and indicates the table with a nod of her head. Killian sits down in one chair, looking around.

It's a nice loft, exposed brick walls painted in some vintage way behind him. It looks like he's in some 80s house, old but nice decorations orderly arranged. Somehow, he doesn't think it fits her. She's more… messy. It doesn't exactly bother him, but he wouldn't be surprised if she leaves piles of clothes all around or one too many dishes in the sink.

«By the way,» she tells him, placing a purple bowl and a glass of orange juice in front of him, «my name is Emma Swan.»

«Killian Jones,» he automatically responds, watching carefully as she sits down in front of him. No, she doesn't _sit_, not like people usually do, she sits with her legs crossed, much like a child. He's amazed. Perhaps, he's even a bit in love, too.

«So,» she starts, not caring that she's munching on cereals as she speaks, «you know nothing about werewolves, do you? I imagine you still think of them as legendary slash supernatural beings. Long story short, they're not. Like many things. Vampires, mermaids, sirens – big difference – shapeshifters, centaurs, elves, dwarves, fairies, all of them exist. And, well, gods too.»

He's glad he's yet to start eating because he would've spit it all out. This is impossible. As it should be impossible the fact that he's been dressed up with a flick of her hand and now he's sitting in front of her in a loft that could be on the other side of the world. Or perhaps not, since it's still day outside, the sun telling him they've not changed time zone. It's going to rain soon.

«I am, in fact, Artemis. Or, well, a reincarnation of sorts. Big war that ended all the Olympians and their essence was transferred into human beings, to keep them – _us_ – alive. I actually never know who to introduce myself as, but I'm equal part Emma and Artemis, both souls intertwined.»

Killian tilts his head, trying to wrap his mind around that madness. «So you're… what, more than two thousand years old? I apologize, I shouldn't ask your age, but-»

«But you still don't understand, I know.» Her kind, shy smile makes his heart flutter. «To answer your question, I am. But I won't share how many years have been, a woman likes to keep her secrets, even if she's a goddess.»

He can't help but smile at that. «Are you still a virgin?» So much for good form.

Heat rises to Emma's cheeks, eyes so wide he thinks she'll get stuck like that. «W-well, t-t-that's not what I-I… I don't want to talk about this.»

But Killian bites back a grin: he has his answer, albeit not one he was actually seeking. «I beg your pardon, love, I shouldn't have asked you anything like that. Please forgive me.»

She nods slowly, but her skin is still flushed. «A-alright, I, uh… werewolves. I, well, Artemis… ah, fuck, this is easier with the other Olympians. Okay, _I_ am their guardian, but of course I can't keep an eye on each one of them. However, I always feel when a werewolf shifts for the first time. I'm not involved with families of wolves, not when the parents raise them teaching them the limits and the rules. You need to stay safe, you don't want hunters to kill you.»

He nods along, her words, somehow, making sense. «And you thought I was a hunter.»

Emma nods, chewing another mouthful of cereals. «I saw the wolf strolling around and wanted to wait until you shifted back to human form. But when I came across you, I got the wrong idea.» She quiets down for a few seconds, lost in memories. «I already lost various wolves because of hunters, I didn't want to lose another. I'm usually there when they shift, never looking but still present. I was late to your shift. The fact that you were naked should've been a giveaway but…»

«You could've asked before shooting at me,» Killian says, clenching his jaw. He's starting to get angry, probably because he's forgotten all about the cut, the dry blood on his face not a good sensation at all.

She bows her head, nodding. Before he can ask her whys she was running away from him, however, Emma lifts her hand, a white glow emanating from it and, suddenly, Killian feels his cheek clean and the cut cicatrized.

«Thank you,» he mumbles, finally digging his spoon in the bowl and eating the now-squishy cereals. «Why did you run away?»

A laugh escapes from her lips, something halfway through a sarcastic and an amused one. «Trust me, you don't want to face a pissed off werewolf. You all are a bit always too ready to snap, let's put it this way.»

With a finger, he traces the rim of the bowl. «If you're some kind of werewolves guardian, why don't you control the wolves biting innocent people unwilling to become part of this supernatural world?»

Hurt flashes in her eyes as she sets her lips into a thin line. He's not being fair, he knows that, as much as he knows what has been done to him isn't fair either.

«All I can do, if you really want some sort of closure, is tracking down the wolf who changed you. I cannot give you your life back. I'm sorry.» As much as he'd like to, he knows he can't get into a fit of rage right now. Emma doesn't deserve this.

It's strange, and it should be impossible, but Killian slowly accepts his role in this new supernatural world, Emma helping him with the shifts and to control his impulses, almost better than the anger management meetings.

They develop a friendship that borders something else, something neither of them want to name for the same reason: if she's also the goddess of virginity, how can he sully her? She's been true to her nature for thousands of years, he can't believe he's enough to let her go of that.

It happens anyway, and it's fitting that it happens in the forest right before he shifts months after their meeting, her body pressed against a tree as he devours her mouth.

After being truthfully ravished, before the moon makes it way to the sky claiming Killian for the night, Emma whispers her love to him, and Killian knows he's found his true mate. Apparently, things for werewolves are quite different than for normal humans. Yet, he wouldn't change a thing.

Killian feels that tingle in his body, the one signalling the shift. After one last, passionate kiss and a love bite on her neck, Killian stands up, looking down at her with ravenous eyes. She stands, wearing a white dress, an old one – because of course she's kept every dress she ever wore during her life – and pushes up on her bare tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then whispers: «catch me.»

With a laugh, she takes off, Killian grinning like a true predator as he shifts. It's rapid and not exactly painless but still not very much enjoyable, though way better than the first few times. He's glad he's blacked out during his very first shift and doesn't remember it.

The wolf blends in with the night, the only noticeable thing his glowing bright blue eyes. Killian lifts his head, sniffing at the air to catch trace of her scent, an indistinguishable flavour of cinnamon and sunlight. When he finds what he's looking for, he smiles a wolfish smile before sprinting after Emma.

The huntress is now the prey, and now, Killian's hunt begins.


	2. Chapter 2

** hollyethecurious: nsfw prompts: may i have a #7 with a side of 9 and 18?**

**("What I really want is for you to pin me against the wall and fuck me senseless." + "You're in trouble now." + "I want to hear you beg for it.")**

**I know I said "no MC", but this prompt just called for a full moon night, so it's a smutty sequel of Let the clouds go sailing by.**

**This is rated EE for Extremely Explicit because well, I lost control, alright?**

«What I really want is for you to pin me against a tree and fuck me senseless.»

_Jesus. Fucking. Christ_.

As if the full moon fuelling his blood wasn't enough, as if Emma's scent calling to him wasn't driving him stir crazy already, those words manage to do even worse.

Shifting with a hard on is a horrible thing.

He's honestly tempted to fight the shift, something he would never do knowing the consequences. But Killian would do it to catch her and fuck her senseless as she wishes.

After his goddess takes off, he lets the wolf take over, gritting his teeth. Yep, shifting with a raging erection is bloody awful, it's like the first times all over again.

The moment the pain passes, though, the huge wolf stretches, curling his tail over his back, almost forming a full circle.

A whiff of cinnamon catches his attention, nostrils flaring as he sniffs at the air. In his mind, a map forms, the scent zigzagging through the trees, tracing a trail to his treasure. There'd be a smirk on his lips if he still was in human form, but the glint in his bright blue eyes is still there, the thrill of the hunt exciting him almost as much as the thought of burying himself inside of Emma does.

Aye, there is something sexual about it. Killian's found out that the instincts he once tried to forcefully ignore are now back full force. He can't bring himself to regret succumbing to them, not when he finally feels so free.

His stance is graceful, Emma would comment it's unfair how graceful he is, both in human and wolf form. Whenever she does that, Killian replies telling her someone needs to compensate for her lack of coordination when not running in the woods. She's never amused.

What she is now, however, is on the run, and that means the wolf comes out to play, every deepest desire and instinct set free. There still are boundaries to respect, of course, but they always make sure they're safe.

Thankfully, they've only run into other wolves just a few times, only once or twice getting into a fight because of some primal urge that screamed at Killian to protect and hurt whoever wanted to even lay eyes on his mate.

Ah, yes, the mate thing. That's quite interesting: Emma does indeed have the mark of his teeth on her skin. She's magicked so only supernatural creatures can see it, so they know Emma is _his_. For the human eyes, instead, there's his mother's wedding ring adorning her finger. From his part, Killian has the Cygnus constellation tattooed on his right wrist, drawn inside the head of a wolf howling at a full moon. He hopes he'll soon be able to wear a wedding ring and make things official, but of bloody course wanting to marry a goddess is not easy.

The wolf shakes his head, focusing back on Emma's scent. It's richer, now, but not because he's close. Killian stops, tilting his head. One more sniff and he knows: she's bleeding. Not so much to alarm him, he can still feel the adrenaline mixed to her scent. Apparently, he'll have to add another scar to the map he's already made of her body.

With his heart at peace, Killian resumed his run, trying not to be tempted by the mouth-watering scent of a rabbit. Sometimes, he would catch trace of a deer, but with them being a symbol of Artemis, he has to play nice. If wolves could pout, Killian would decidedly do that many times. Such a pity.

Thin branches would break under his paws if he wasn't so fast, slightly stomping over the leaves-covered ground. At first, he was careless, making so much noise he cringed internally, but now, now he's become deadly. It thrills Emma: she loves being the prey after years of being the huntress.

His eyes catch a movement at his side.

She's wearing black, tonight, a dress she hid by a cloak so he wouldn't know what to search for, only her unique perfume. The only two things that remain the same are how her hair are always down, bouncy mesmerizing curls that threaten to almost turn him into a bloody feline, and that she's barefoot. This way, she's a little more quiet than she usually is, but not as much as she thinks she is.

Biting back a victorious howl, Killian closes the gap between Emma and himself, clearly hearing her short breaths, puffs of air forming white-grey clouds in front of her.

One jump, and he is on her, fast and lethal yet gentle enough so he won't hurt her too much.

Emma grunts as they roll on the ground, her fingers tightening in Killian's soft fur to keep him close, her face buried in the thick hair of his neck.

Killian finds himself half on top of her, trying as usual not to put too much weight on her. On the contrary, he quite loves when she's on top of him.

His warm tongue sweeps over her cheek, and it's not like he's tasting her, but marking her instead. Killian has other ways to _taste _her.

«Hello to you too, good boy,» she teases, bringing her hand up to scratch behind his ear. That traitor of a tail he has begins thumping loudly against the ground, sweeping the dead leaves away. His tongue lolls out of is mouth, and he bears that wolf cliché only because of the way Emma's smile widens at the sight.

They stay like that long enough that he even becomes a bit sleepy, his head resting on Emma's chest, the calm beating of her heart a tempting lullaby. It didn't help that she was running her long slender fingers through his fur, much like she did his hair whenever they were in the same position but both in human form.

The moment Killian feels she's starting to drift off, he reaches out with his head and gently nips at her jaw, making her frown and open her eyes. The lazy smile she gives him shine brighter than all the stars in the sky. He'd snort at how cliché it sounds if it wasn't true.

«I know, I know, I'm going,» she mumbles, gently pushing him off herself. She plants a kiss on his nose, briefly brushing the tip of her own against the wet black truffle, a she so lovingly calls it. After another kiss – or ten – on his muzzle, that earns her a content growl low in his throat, Emma disappears in a cloud of smoke. She'll sleep, or try her best to, and then reappear in time for his shift.

His night is, alas, uneventful, which makes Killian furious: some needs must be satisfied; he's had his hunt, the one for himself, but the wolf demands his own hunt, too.

The feeling lingers after he shifts, stark naked as dawn filters through the tight ceiling of leaves above his head. A twig snapping behind him makes him whirl around, fingers curled like claws ready to strike.

It's Emma. Of course it's her, but it does stop his hunger, neither his or the wolf's. In fact, her presence intensifies it.

She doesn't even have the time to realize what he's doing that Killian is on her, pinning her against the nearest try as she so wished earlier.

His warm mouth goes straight for her throat, but not to suck a mark there, no. Emma _whimpers_ when his scorching hot tongue traces the scar of her claiming bite, and it's like marking her all over again, whit Killian's brain screaming _mine_, _mine_, _mine_.

«You're in trouble now,» Killian growls against her ear, before licking the shell of her ear. «The wolf has caught his prey.»

Killian feels her shiver against his body; he's rapidly growing hard against her lower belly, the thrill of the night and the scent of Emma's arousal, which he bets is dripping down her thighs because she _always_ wears none whenever he shifts. And a few other times, too.

Emma moans at his words, fisting dark locks of hair to keep him there, but also knowing that it drives him crazy with want and need. «What if-» She's cut off by his teeth grazing her shoulder, the strap of the Greek-like black dress falling down her arm. She already feels the cold air on her breasts, her nipples harden at the sensation. «What if it's exactly what I wanted?»

With a growl, Killian rips the already low front of the dress with a very satisfying sound, her gasp going straight to his cock, now hard and heavy between his thighs. He's growing impossibly harder as he fills his lungs with her aroused scent. He wishes he could spend the eternity between her legs, making her writhe in pleasure and quench the thirst he has of her.

Pulling back slightly, Killian tsks, a wicked gleam in his eyes and a dark grin spreading over his face. Emma knows which Killian she's looking at: he's still the predator, she'd go as far as saying he's still more wolf than human, but it's her Killian nonetheless.

A shiver runs down her spine at his next words.

«I want to hear you beg for it.»

The dress falls in a heap at their feet. _Beautiful_, Killian thinks as his eyes roam hungrily her body. He wants to suck on those pert nipples, wants to suck marks from her throat to her mound, and then fall on his knees to tongue her into oblivion, drinking from her dripping pussy everything she's ready to give him.

But he won't. No, like the predator he is, he wants to keep her on her toes, wants to hear her beg for his cock. It's the polar opposite of torturing her with his fingers or mouth or toys, but it still is torture. And oh, does Killian love torture.

He merely keeps looking at her straight in the eyes, tongue peeking out to taste her flavour on his lips, a sweet prelude to what's to come.

Sooner than expected, Emma breaks, arching her body so it presses against him, her ripe mounds catching is attention and making his mouth water. He can't lose focus, he won't give in: he needs to be in control.

«Please, Killian» she pants, deliciously rubbing against him. Killian's eyes are enraptured by Emma's nipples. The more he stares, the more he wants to lap at them like a starving pup, and it's not the first time he fantasizes about an actual pup, _their_ pup, being the one to feed from her breasts. For that, though, they have all the time in the world.

«Please what?» he growls, nuzzling the tender skin behind her ear. «Tell me what do you want, love, tell me what do you _need_.»

Emma whines, writhing against him. She's desperate, her blood boiling beneath her skin, more arousal running down her thighs, making him drunk on it. «I need you!» she cries out, rubbing her wet cunt against his cock. He almost gives in, but he wants more, and she knows that. «Please, Killian, I want you to fuck me, to put your cock inside me and make me come.»

He growls, pressing an open-mouthed kiss on her neck. «And don't you want me to come? Don't you want me to come deep inside you, fill you up with my seed, so much it'll overflow even if I'm still buried inside you?»

A strangled gasp leaves her throat, her fingers tightening around his hair. «Yes, fuck, _yes_, Killian,» she moans, bringing herself close to him and trying to kiss him. Killian complies, finally kissing her hungrily.

He sweeps his tongue across her lower lip, making it more tender for when he bites down on it half a second later. Without any effort, he slides his hands down her side to her arse. Before wrapping them around her thighs, Killian squeezes her buttocks, earning a moan he drinks from her lips as he traces her teeth with his tongue.

In a swift move, he lifts her up and enters her, moaning at her scorching hot heat enveloping him. «Fuck, love,» he hisses, bottoming out, «you're so hot and tight. I'd spend the eternity buried deep within you.»

With her arms wrapped around his neck and her back pressed against the bark of the tree, Emma nods frantically, shifting her hips in rhythm with Killian's deep thrusts. Her walls clenched around his cock, her orgasm already building, that kind of foreplay driving her so close to the edge she should feel ashamed, but she isn't, because she knows neither Killian or herself will be sated by one orgasm.

«Come for me, my goddess, _come_,» Killian growls the command in her ear, biting down on her lobe as he rolls his hips, hitting her depths and relishing in the tightness of Emma's cunt. She's perfect for him, made both for his soul and body.

She shatters with a scream, music to Killian's ears as he keeps thrusting up into her, her teeth grazing his lobe threatening to make him spend himself too early. He wants her to come one more time, knowing he will spend the day making her writhe in pleasure and come over and over. It wasn't just the full moon, they do have quite the active sexual life, but he _is_ slightly hornier than usual around those days or, as Emma loves to call it, his version of "that time of the month".

Snapping his hips up, he grinds his pelvic bone against her clit, his hands already occupied keeping her up and squeezing the flesh behind her thighs. He loves when she comes only thanks to his cock, no other stimulation needed.

«I love you,» Emma keens, tightening her legs around his waist, her knees pressing against his sides.

A shiver runs down Killian's spine at her words. Though they've been together for years, those three words still have the same effect on him as if it was the first time. He pulls away slightly, never stopping moving, to look her in the eyes. «I love you,» he replies, even if it sounds more like an oath, a promise to keep loving her forever.

And he will, he knows he will, much like he knows he won't last long, he only needs Emma to come again. He kisses her deeply, curling his fingers to scratch her soft skin. He knows he'll fully enjoy tending her wounds, kissing every inch of her skin.

They're more desperate, now, both wanting to crash. Killian already feels that tingling at the base of his spine, the continue clenching of her cunt telling him she's close, that she needs one little push. He caves, ducking his head and taking a nipple in his mouth, suckling on it.

Nails dig into the back of his neck and Killian reacts instinctively, grazing the hard peak with his teeth. The pressure of the flat of his tongue against the neglected nipple is all it takes for Emma to come and milk him of everything he has as Killian comes, too.

Gently, as he tries to catch his breath, Killian pulls her away from the tree, brushing away what bark left on her skin, angry marks appearing over it already.

He lies on the ground, not caring that he'll have to scrub away the dirt. Killian's still buried inside her, his come leaking from her as he slowly softens.

«You're crazy,» Emma sighs, rubbing her cheek over his heart.

At that, Killian smirks. «Aye, crazy about you.»

A sharp pain blooms at his side. She's pinched him, clearly annoyed, but he can still feel her smiling still. «So cheesy.»

«And you love me for it.»

She does.

A whine leaves her lips when she rolls her shoulders. «You're in big trouble, young man,» Emma huffs, knowing a wave of her hand could easily heal the scratches the bark left on her back.

A wide grin spreads over Killian's face. «Will you punish me, my _Goddess_?»

Those words paint Emma's skin a deep red. After – _finally_ – discovering the wonders of sex thanks to Killian, Emma has started to discover herself, too. With him, she's finally testing her limits, what she likes and what she doesn't. And, besides being the perfect prey for a famished wolf, she can't help but enjoy staying true to her nature, being the Huntress, being a Goddess. And, well, Killian enjoys being the wolf she has to tame, the man who sometimes needs to be punishment.

She better settles her knees to his sides, lifting herself from his chest but keeping him buried inside her. He's starting to get hard again. A grin forms on her face. «Is that what you want, boy?»

«Aye.» In a flash, he rolls them over, swiftly bringing on of Emma's legs over his shoulder. She cries out in surprise, and the spark in his eyes gets brighter. «But today, my sweet Emma, today you're still mine.»


End file.
